'Tis well that that ill-omen'd name can rouse
Such rage. Then live. Let love and duty urge
Their claims. Live, suffer not this son of Scythia,
Crushing your children 'neath his odious sway,
To rule the noble offspring of the gods,
The purest blood of Greece. Make no delay;
Each moment threatens death; quickly restore
Your shatter'd strength, while yet the torch of life
Holds out, and can be fann'd into a flame.
PHAEDRA
Too long have I endured its guilt and shame!
OENONE
Why? What remorse gnaws at your heart? What crime
Can have disturb'd you thus? Your hands are not
Polluted with the blood of innocence?
PHAEDRA
Thanks be to Heav'n, my hands are free from stain.
Would that my soul were innocent as they!
OENONE
What awful project have you then conceived,
Whereat your conscience should be still alarm'd?
PHAEDRA
Have I not said enough? Spare me the rest.
I die to save myself a full confession.
OENONE
Die then, and keep a silence so inhuman;
But seek some other hand to close your eyes.
Tho' but a spark of life remains within you,
My soul shall go before you to the Shades.
A thousand roads are always open thither;
Pain'd at your want of confidence, I'll choose
The shortest. Cruel one, when has my faith
Deceived you! Think how in my arms you lay
New born. For you, my country and my children
I have forsaken. Do you thus repay
My faithful service?
PHAEDRA
What do you expect
From words so bitter? Were I to break silence
Horror would freeze your blood.
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